


More Than Words

by sekaiseifuku



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Pool Sex, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/pseuds/sekaiseifuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People try to describe Makoto in so many ways, his name just one of a thousand useless strings of sound that attempt to describe his existence. To Haruka, the exercise is so futile that it's become ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cienna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cienna/gifts).



Haruka glides lazily into the wall of the pool, finishing his cool-down. He swam the last 25 slowly enough that it takes very little time at all for him to catch his breath before he ducks his head under the water to soothe the burning heat of his face, flushed with the effort of the last 500 meters. As the water begins to fill his ears, the ceaseless droning of the cicadae is muffled, then completely silenced. His body begins to sink and he rolls over to look up past the surface into a sky that seems miles and miles away. His back hits the rough concrete of the pool and he lays there, his outstretched hand backlit by the orange expanse of a perfect, cloudless sunset.

The quiet the water brings is almost always enough. Above the surface, the world is filled with words and Haruka has never been good with words. Words are tiny things: fragments of sound strung together in futile attempts to describe complexities far beyond their capacity to convey meaning. They are noise – vain efforts that never fail to fall short of their intended purpose.

In the water, however, there is no need for words. More times than Haruka can begin to count, he has allowed himself to escape as far as he can into its depths. He stays until his lungs scream for oxygen, the edges of his vision begin to grey, and he feels that constant tension inside himself begin to ease, just a little.

That, too, is almost always enough. It's enough for Haruka to relax just enough to be able to carry on. But there are times like today, when it seems it only makes things worse, like loosening the cap on a bottle already threatening to explode. Today he doesn't feel like he wants the calm quiet of the water; he instead wants its mirror. He wants to feel its physical presence as it pivots on the razor edge of chaos. He wants feel it shift into something dangerous, something almost monstrous.

Haruka frequently wonders what it would be like to give himself over and be swept away.

The increasingly rapid thrum of his heart in his ears is the only thing he can hear until it is interrupted by the churning of water and the distant splash of Makoto coming in to the wall beside him.

_Makoto._

One word.  
Two characters composed of twenty-two black brush strokes.  
Three syllables spoken, an impossible simplification.

Makoto.

People try to describe Makoto in so many ways, his name just one of a thousand useless strings of sound that attempt to describe his existence. To Haruka, the exercise is so futile that it's become ridiculous. There aren't enough words in any human language. A universe of words would not be enough to begin to describe Makoto.

Haruka knows that he is drawn to Makoto for many of the same reasons he's drawn to the water. His placidity conceals an endless world beneath its surface, one with dark, impenetrable depths no one has ever fully explored. On calm days he reflects the light of others, shimmering in an almost blinding way. He is the bright shallows of a cay, his steady currents continually writing and rewriting the people around him like transient patterns in the sandy ocean floor. He's the clear, warm waters that nurture the corals offshore, filled with life and vitality. But like the ocean, he holds within him an innate potential for danger – nascent, just waiting for a storm to unleash it.

He is so very much like the ocean he fears. That, too, terrifies Makoto.

Haruka, however, has never truly been afraid of drowning.

The need for air propels him upward, his head breaking the surface and his ears filling with sound once more. Far-off conversations – the last of their classmates leaving the schoolyard. A truck passing on a nearby road. The deep, throaty cries of crows digging in the garbage. The endless song of the cicadae.

Behind him, he can hear Makoto's breathing, still heavy from exertion. Haruka has always found Makoto's presence to be relaxing, but today there's nothing calming about the labored inhale and exhale of his breath. Today, it chafes at his nerves, sparking something resembling annoyance deep inside him. It's an irritation, an itch he can't scratch.

Haruka floats on his back and watches a bird overhead, playing on the warm summer crosswinds. He is still long enough for his heart rate to return to normal before he tucks his chin, allowing his lower body to sink and his feet to touch the bottom. He turns abruptly, intending to swim to the wall where Makoto is resting and get out. He doesn't know why, but his movement has somehow caught Makoto off-guard. And there, hidden in his expression, Haruka catches the smallest of glimpses of … something … before Makoto’s face shifts almost imperceptibly.

Haruka can see it in his eyes, the shuttering, the closing-off. The annoyance in his stomach clenches, tightens into something he might almost call pain. He could ignore it if he wanted, but he’s suddenly lost all patience. It can’t continue. It’s intolerable.

“Stop,” he says without realizing.

“What?” Makoto’s eyebrows lift and the edges of his eyes crinkle. It's one of Makoto's default expressions – one he assumes when he's trying to appear mildly amused.

It's a lie.

“That. Stop that.” Haruka suddenly realizes this has been going on for much longer than he'd realized. Weeks, definitely. Months. Perhaps even longer than that.

 _Intolerable_.

“What, breathing?” Makoto laughs softly.

Another lie.

“No." Haruka says. He's suddenly moving toward Makoto, his feet pressing against the bottom of the pool and propelling his body forward. "Hiding."

It's easy to glide up against Makoto, pinning him to the wall. "Stop hiding."

"Haru-chan's being silly again." Makoto smiles, trying to mask his discomfort.

Something has clicked into place inside of Haruka and it's set off a chain reaction that is rapidly growing more overwhelming than he thinks he can stand. He feels like lashing out, like he needs to yell at Makoto and convince him to stop what he's been doing. He wants to yell, but he doesn't even know how to begin to start putting this thing into words. He stands there, hands on either side of Makoto and tries to stop the tremors that are threatening his body. He's frozen in place, incapable of coherent speech, with something fearsome growing inside of him.

"Haru-chan, are you okay?" Makoto's face has shifted again, this time into something genuine. Surprise. Concern.

Haruka wants to grab hold of that honesty, keep it in his grasp and not allow it to skitter back into that deep, concealed place where Makoto’s been hiding it. His hands fly up to Makoto's face, holding his head in place, as if by physically immobilizing him he'll be able to keep him fully present.

"Haru," Makoto breathes, his voice full of fear and longing. "What are you—"

Haruka’s body moves of its own accord, covering Makoto's mouth with his own and cutting off his words. He knows Makoto’s body has gone rigid with surprise, but his own world has narrowed to the feel of warm, soft lips against his own and the desperate, consuming need to keep Makoto _here_.

He feels a palm suddenly against his chest, pushing him back with greater force than Haruka has ever seen Makoto use. He loses contact with him, almost losing his balance in the process, and for an impossibly long moment, he fears he might have destroyed everything.

“Why,” Makoto breathes, more an exhale voiced than a word.

When Haruka looks up to meet his gaze, he sees everything Makoto was trying to hide being churned up to the surface by the storm he just unleashed. It is as complex as Makoto himself – desire, doubt, hope, fear, lust, shame, and a hundred other emotions – and the only thing Haruka can think is that Makoto looks completely and utterly lost.

“That,” he says, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. “Stop hiding that.”

Makoto looks at him as if it were the most terrifying thing in the world. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” Haruka says. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll keep drifting further and further away.

“Haru,” Makoto begins, his voice unsteady and his body practically vibrating with the effort of control, “you don’t understand.”

"Then explain."

“Why did you …” Makoto raises his hand to his mouth, unconsciously touching his bottom lip. “Why would you do that?”

“I …” Haruka’s voice trails off as he realizes he scarcely knows himself. He certainly can’t find a way to explain that would make any sense. Like so many other times in his life, he settles for the simplest answer—

“I wanted to.” 

Makoto’s eyes fall shut and his brows crease together. 

“I’ve thought about it,” he admits softly after a pregnant pause. 

And somehow, Haruka has known this for a long time without realizing it.

“I dream about it constantly,” Makoto continues, his eyes still closed. “About kissing you.”

“Why haven’t you?” Haruka can't help but ask.

"Haru, you …” He opens his eyes and there’s such a desperation in them that Haruka finds it difficult to breathe. “You don't _understand_. I’m with you every day. I sit beside you in class, I eat lunch with you … I see you all day, every day, and it’s all I can do not to touch you."

"You touch me."

"No,” Makoto exclaimed, “not like this. I want to touch you _everywhere_. I want to take you into my room and lock the door and do so many horrible things to you. I want to throw you on my bed and crush you with my body. I want to kiss you. I want to do more than kiss you – I want to taste you all over."

"Your brother and sister would interrupt,” Haruka replies, almost without thinking. His mind is too full of the fact that while he has vaguely thought about those things himself, hearing Makoto say them aloud is the most thrilling, frightening thing he’s ever experienced.

"Haru.” Makoto is looking at him with a wild, heated expression. “You don't get it. I want every part of you. I want to bite you and leave marks all over you … marks that tell Nagisa and Rei and Gou and Rin – _everyone_ – that you're mine."

"Idiot." Haruka’s had enough. He takes a step back toward him, the shift in the water sending a current of fresh, cool water across his overheated skin. "Everybody already knows that." He reaches for Makoto’s hand, ignoring the startled look on Makoto’s face and the wild beating of his own heart, and places it against his chest, the same place Makoto shoved just moments before—

“You can touch me however you want.”

And suddenly it’s like something inside Makoto has snapped. He moves fast, grabbing Haruka by the shoulders and turning him around, shoving him against the pool wall and pressing him to it with his body. Haruka has only a split second to process what’s happening before Makoto’s mouth is covering his, a low moan in his throat as he invades his mouth.

Haruka has no frame of reference for what’s happening. The feel of Makoto’s hard body against his is like nothing he had imagined, searing heat contrasted with the cool of the water around them. The taste of his mouth is salt and chlorine, and as Makoto’s tongue slides along his, Haruka thinks that he couldn’t possible get enough of it all. It is wholly overwhelming.

Makoto’s hands slide down his sides and grab his ass, pulling Haruka’s lower body even tighter against him even as his back is pressed almost painfully against the cement wall. Haruka is harder than he’s ever been in his life and when Makoto starts grinding into him, clumsy and rough, he can’t help the raw noise that escapes into Makoto’s mouth. He’s already embarrassingly close when the kiss breaks, his name coming out of Makoto’s mouth in sharp, desperate pants.

Haruka is suddenly coming, hard and fast, as Makoto thrusts against him at an increasingly rapid pace and his eyes flutter shut while pleasure washes over him in a great tidal wave. Through the torrent, Haruka feels Makoto’s grasp on his ass tighten and his movements become erratic before he tenses, dropping his head onto Haruka’s shoulder and muffling a groan into his neck.

For a few moments, they’re motionless, Haruka pinned against the wall by the weight of Makoto’s body. He’s heavy, even in the water, but Haruka finds he doesn’t mind it – there’s something immensely pleasurable about the sensation. He wonders what it will feel like on land, on his futon.

“Haru,” Makoto eventually whispers against his shoulder, his voice strange. “Do you hate me now?”

“No.” It’s one of the dumbest questions he’s ever heard Makoto ask.

Makoto pushes himself back and stands before turning quickly and moving away, not looking at Haruka. He puts his hands up on the deck, ready to pull himself out of the water, and just like that, Haruka knows Makoto is being an idiot of epic proportions. He reaches out, grabbing Makoto’s forearm, and pulls him back down.

“Stop,” he says as gently as he’s capable. “No running. No hiding.”

“I’m sorry,” Makoto says, his voice full of pain and regret. He still isn’t meeting Haruka’s eyes, which means something is terribly wrong.

“I’m not,” Haruka says as he lets go of his arm. “Well … I am sorry we got the pool dirty, but I’m not sorry about what we did.”

Makoto jerks his head up, eyes wide. There’s something about the shock, combined with tentative hope in his expression that pierces Haruka to the core. Makoto really and truly believes that he’s destroyed their friendship, and that is entirely unacceptable. There are a hundred thousand things Haruka could try to say, but they all begin from a single starting point—

“Mako, I want to be with you.”

To Haruka, saying that is enough. But Makoto’s been so dense about everything that Haruka knows it’s not enough. He’s got to tell him everything, tell him so he’ll understand and never, ever forget—

“Listen to me. In whatever way you want ... in whatever way I can have you, that’s what I want.” He knows it’s a terrible, awkward confession, but he has to make Makoto understand. “All those things you said? I want them. The things you didn’t say… I want those too. Everything.”

Suddenly Makoto’s smile is so blinding that Haruka can’t bring himself to worry about how inadequate his words are. Sometimes, they’re enough.


End file.
